


How Miss Wield Met Her Match (or, Further Steps in the Redemption of Cousin Laurie)

by nom



Category: The Nonesuch - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nom/pseuds/nom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in London, who better to help keep an eye on the Troublesome Miss Wield than Laurie?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Miss Wield Met Her Match (or, Further Steps in the Redemption of Cousin Laurie)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delancey654](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delancey654/gifts).



Laurence felt deuced odd, to be in Waldo’s drawing room, with his cousin’s Long Meg of a new wife giving him one of her coolly serious looks.

“Pray sit down, Laurence,” she said.

He did. “Ma’am, in what way may I be of service?” he asked, because although Lindeth and George might call him an ill-mannered ungrateful scrub he did know how to treat a lady.

Especially the lady who was married to his unfairly rich, unjustly straitlaced, eccentrically philanthropic, but occasionally benevolent cousin. And even if the person in question might be said to be an odd kind of lady—being jumped up from country governess stuck in the wilds of Yorkshire to marrying his cousin and suddenly being part of the most exalted ranks of the ton—the former Miss Trent unquestionably was a lady. Unlike that ramshackle romp of a girl she’d been in charge of before Waldo rescued her from her life of drudgery.

Ah. He belatedly realized – it should have been quite, quite obvious—that the hoyden in question must be why he was here.

“It is… a delicate matter. And I hesitate to ask it of you, Laurence. However, you showed great good sense in calling on Waldo when Tiffany persuaded you to take her to Leeds, and handled her quite well.” For an amateur, she did not say, but Laurence could hear her think it nonetheless. 

Which was quite as it should be, in Laurence's estimation—handling the Headstrong Miss Wield was one particular skill he had no desire whatsoever to become an expert in. That, he would as lief let Waldo and Waldo’s wife—and the Intractable Miss Wield’s unfortunate relatives—waste their time on, while he himself perfected the airs and graces of a Man on the Town, achieved new and ever more intricate arrangements of his neck-cloths, and (although he would never admit it) practiced taking his fences in a perhaps less slovenly fashion, and damn Waldo’s eyes for causing him to doubt his own prowess in the saddle.

However, here he was, in Waldo’s town house, summoned by the polite note from the new Lady Hawkridge asking him to call—and a healthy interest in ingratiating himself with one whose influence over his wealthy but, these days, ever more erratic (when it came to handing out largesse) cousin Waldo only seemed to be increasing.

Seeing that she had fallen silent, he urged her on, “Ma’am, you were saying? About Miss Wield?”

“Thank you, yes. Miss Wield. Although as you are well aware my former charge can be… strong-willed”—or “headstrong, hysterical, and unfit for polite company” thought Laurence to himself—“I do feel a sense of responsibility for her. And believe that although she may be young and willful, she is not… irredeemable.” She looked pensive.

“Other girls of less charm and beauty, with fewer accomplishments and less sense, have succeeded on the Marriage Mart,” she continued. “And I would feel that I had not fulfilled my obligations as one who had charge of her if I did not make an effort to give Tiffany a chance to make the kind of match she dreams of.”

Having, over the course of several Seasons, seen stupider, plainer, and worse-mannered girls succeed in ensnaring a surprising number of gentlemen who should have known better into marriage, Laurence agreed that with her beauty and her fortune, marrying a minor peer might not be beyond the capabilities of The Beautiful Miss Wield. As long as she were able to keep her mouth shut and stop herself from publicly indulging in any distempered freaks for long enough that the poor unfortunate could be induced to offer for her before the scales concerning Tiffany’s true nature had fallen from his eyes.

His cousin-in-law was continuing: “Her Aunt Burford will be bringing her out during the Little Season, and I have offered to chaperone her to some events. But Waldo and I will not be back in London until the Little Season is well underway. Would you, Laurence, be so kind as to… keep an eye on her? Just to ensure that she does not ruin her chances even before she has been properly introduced to polite society?”

Laurence stifled his first impulses, which were to shrink back, clutch his hair and ruin the careful efforts of his barber, or to tell his cousin’s lady wife that unfortunately he himself would be out of town visiting the Antipodes in the near future. 

Instead, once again thinking very hard of the benefits to having Waldo’s wife think well of him, he swallowed, attempted to project an air of sincere helpfulness, and said, “Lady Hawkridge, I would be pleased to render you what assistance I may in this matter.”

“‘Cousin Ancilla,’ if you please,” she said, smiling faintly.

-

“Ah, Laurie, were you able to reassure my lady wife?” asked Waldo, appearing as though by magic out of his book-room just as Laurence retrieved his gloves and hat from the footman.

“Yes, I was,” said Laurence, swallowing a stronger retort in favor of staying in the good graces of the man who might yet be persuaded to put in a good word with his damned top-lofty hunting cronies about the horses Laurence would be hacking about the Park and hunting with as part of his (perfectly genteel) horse-dealing venture.

“I am glad to hear you were able to overcome any lingering reluctance to spend time in the lovely Miss Wield’s company,” said Waldo. “When Ancilla and I return to London I’ll take you out driving. To Richmond, perhaps. Or let you persuade me to take a look at one of those promising hunters of yours. Provided your partner in the enterprise rather than you is the one to select the horse, that is.”

-

Calling upon the Burfords and the Beautiful Baggage was somewhat of a bore, but easily bearable for a man of the parts and charm Laurence knew himself to be. 

The uncle was never seen, engaged in banking as he was, while the Worthy Aunt, being informed by Miss Wield that Mr. Calver was another cousin of Sir Waldo Hawkridge’s who had run tame about the Nonesuch’s Yorkshire property during the summer, was almost effusive in her welcome of him to Portland Place. The Burford daughters, nothing to speak of as far as looks and a little younger than Miss Wield and thus not out, were sometimes present during morning calls and hung upon his every utterance about the beau monde and its fashions and manners with a flattering amount of interest.

Tiffany, when Laurence had first come to call, greeted him as a long-lost friend. Although at first he was briefly startled, Laurence’s keen intellect quickly informed him that the Headstrong Miss Wield had either repented of some of her wilder statements about his vileness (in saving her from scandal and social ruin by not letting her run off to London by herself) or—with the sensible self-interest he as a kindred spirit could fully recognized and admire—had realized not only that knowing anyone of his own decided air of fashion would be useful while she sojourned in London, but that any connection to the Hawkridges was to be treasured during her début. 

She had apparently overcome or exhausted what Laurence could only assume to have been an epic fit of temper on the discovery that _her governess_ was about to marry the Nonesuch, that matrimonial prize of the first order, and once again spoke of her “dearest Ancilla” in caressing tones, while showing a playful deference to her aunt Burford—certainly more than she ever had to her aunt Underhill. 

Whatever the cause of her improvement in temper, Laurence was grateful for it. Only once had he been on the receiving end of one of her notorious tantrums, which experience (along with the clock Tiffany had thrown at him) had so scarred him that he hoped never to repeat it.

-

At least Laurence had nothing to blush for in being seen sedately walking in the Park with Miss Wield—with her longsuffering abigail decorously trailing behind. Tiffany’s pelisses were always of the most fashionable cut, her muffs (on chillier days) modishly extravagant, and her hats clearly the products of London’s finest milliners.

Laurence felt he was doing his duty by Waldo and his wife admirably, telling Tiffany to mind her manners in public and introducing her to the old fusties of his aunt Sophia’s set as well as the more respectable of his cronies who buttonholed him wishing to be introduced to the new Beauty. 

And that capital fellow Kearney, of course, when Desmond had come cantering up to them and dismounted from his handsome hack to greet Laurence and bow deeply over Miss Wield’s prettily gloved little hand. 

However, detecting a glimmer of interest in the look Tiffany threw up at Kearney through her lashes, upon Desmond’s departure he was careful to inform her that however good-looking his business partner, Kearney would not be a desirable match or even flirt for her, as he was singularly lacking in those attributes most likely to appeal to the Beautiful Baggage: a title, entrée into Almack’s, or tolerance for a capricious, self-interested beauty’s whims.

Priding himself on his excellent management, especially after noting that as soon as he’d informed Kearney not only that their own financial backer, his Corinthian cousin, had an interest in Miss Wield’s well-being but also that Tiffany would not come into her inheritance for another four years, Kearney’s air towards her changed to a positively avuncular one, Laurence decided he need not worry about anything untoward resulting from that connexion. 

-

Tiffany Wield was a resilient girl. 

She had overcome the severe setbacks of the summer—first Lord Lindeth offering for Patience instead of attempting to win her own hand, then discovering that the Nonesuch was not only overbearing and unkind when she was being most cruelly used, but that he had been making up to her governess under Tiffany’s own nose—largely by refusing to dwell on them, ignoring her own follies, or declining to remember they had happened, whichever suited her mood most on any given day. 

She had, however, learned somewhat of a salutary lesson, albeit not the one Ancilla had been hoping she would: that not being continually courted and petted suited her very ill. 

In addition, she had learned from her encounters with Sir Waldo and Mr. Calver that she might meet with not just one or two, but perhaps a greater number of new people who might not always do as she wished, and thus, that practicing her charm and showing off her best manners would be beneficial to her, at least until she got her own way.

She was therefore able to greet Mr. Calver not only with equanimity but quite sunnily when he first came to call in Portland Place, and, knowing him to be motivated by self-interest as pure as her own, to consider him in the light of a (not especially beloved but highly useful) kind of brother.

Regular excursions to the Park, on days when the weather was good and no better entertainment (such as visiting the modiste to array herself for the coming round of social engagements) presented itself, and, while there, tripping along on Mr. Calver’s fashionable arm suited her very well during the weeks she was awaiting her (once again dearest) Ancilla’s return to London so she could be presented to that part of the haut ton returned to Town for the Little Season. 

Mr. Calver had steered her away from attempting to attract certain men of fashion who seemed inclined to pay court to her—including such potential suitors as Mr. Darracott (no intention of marrying, “they would not get along”), Mr. Calverleigh (gazetted fortune-hunter, “ _no_ , he is no relation”), Sir Montagu Revesby (“too smoky by half”), Sir Nugent Fotherby (“prefers the fair-haired fair”), Augustus Fawnhope (“forgetful of whom he’s paying court to”)—and although he pointed out such notables as the Earl of Denville, the Marquis of Alverstoke, Mr. Beaumaris, Lord Alvanley, and Poodle Byng, Mr. Calver disclaimed any interest or ability in bringing Tiffany to their notice. 

“You’ll get burned—again!—that’s what, Miss Wield. If you wish to make a cake of yourself aiming for the most sought-after prizes on the Matrimonial Mart before you have the approval of even one of the Lady Patronesses and while my cousin’s wife isn’t here to get you out of hot water, well, all I will say is that you shan’t do it while in _my_ company!”

Mr. Desmond Kearney, although apparently a great friend of Mr. Calver’s, was also indicated to be out of bounds, which was unfortunate as he was a handsome, personable man with good taste in horseflesh and a decidedly modish air. However, she could not regret him much, as not only had Mr. Calver indicated he was not a suitable member of her court, but by their second meeting he seemed less inclined to pay court to her than to treat her as an insipid young child. 

Yet upon reflection, with all the knowledge of the world and sophistication that the summer’s adventures had brought her, Tiffany recognized that Mr. Calver’s interest in protecting her from the more obvious pitfalls for a debutante—although undoubtedly entirely motivated by some kind of self-interest—was quite sincere, and his observations about his fellow Men About the Town and those he stigmatized as Society Barnacles and Hangers-On were not to be lightly disregarded.

Nothing could therefore exceed her surprise when, on a day that Mr. Calver was absent from Hyde Park—and she had been forced to bring not only the dour Docklow but the elder Miss Burford along on her walk—Mr. Kearney not only paid her his compliments but particularly made her known to his old neighbor, Lord Ballysadare, just returned from the Indies. 

Even more so, when this friend of Mr. Kearney’s indeed turned out to be _old_ —possibly quite as old as Mr. Calver’s cousin Mr. Wingham, or at least Sir Waldo’s age! And not only that, but quite weather-beaten besides. 

Uncertain whether to exert herself beyond the merest politeness to this quite decrepit potential admirer, or whether to treat him as she would have the Squire or some of the other elderly males back in Oversett whom she was used to having wrapped around her little finger with near to no exertion, she was startled to see not just a great deal of (perfectly natural, her mirror continued to assure her – thank goodness the London air did not give her spots, unlike her cousin the younger Miss Burford!) admiration in this unfashionably tanned Lord’s eyes, but a decided glint of humour as well. 

-  
Laurence looked around the Seftons’ ballroom. Although it was no longer the height of the Little Season, it was still creditably filled. 

After greeting his cousin George, who was bound for the card room, Laurence politely waited until Sir Waldo had extracted himself from conversation with old Lady Waringham. 

“Waldo,” he said, “I may have been wrong about not being suited to military life. Before you, you behold one who not only has survived multiple engagements with an unpredictable opposing force, but who may have found a way to neutralize it.”

“Ah, does this mean that Miss Wield did not prove too troublesome during our—delightful and restful—absence from London?” asked Waldo, with a lifted brow.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it untroubled—you have no notion how many loose fish I had to hint away, or the number of court cards Miss Wield seemed to think entertaining! But I believe that between us, Desmond—Kearney, you know!—and I may have done the thing. Had you heard of the return of Ballysadare?” 

“The Irish Nabob?” asked Waldo.

“The very one,” said Laurence. “I must say, it seems a curst shame to have yet another heiress go to a man whose pockets are more than plump enough already! But for some unfathomable reason Miss Wield has taken a shine to him, and he’s ready to lay his fortune at her feet and spoil her even more rott— that is to say, indulge her even more than she ever has been.”

“My dear Laurie,” said Waldo, “If this comes to fruition you will truly be raised in my esteem and I will have to compliment you on a most singular success.” In an ironic yet not unfriendly tone, he continued, “Shall I go and relieve Ancilla of her concerns, or— No, if this moment of triumph comes to pass, you should be the bearer of glad tidings.”

-

Seeing his Cousin Ancilla—with a decided glow about her after her absence from London in her husband’s company—standing next to Miss Wield, he strolled over just in time to hear Lady Sefton say, “Lady Hawkridge, may I present Lord Ballysadare as an eligible partner for Miss Wield?”

Cousin Ancilla looked determinedly neutral, which Laurence (with his superior understanding of the former governess’s concerns about Miss Wield’s conduct) took to mean she was apprehensive about what the Beautiful Baggage’s reaction might be at being foisted off—by a Patroness of Almack’s, no less—on so seemingly unprepossessing a gentleman. 

Yet he had only the time to, _sotto voce_ , utter a reassuring “Dear Cousin, do not be concerned, she knows he’s a Marquis,” before Tiffany—in an action that might have surprised many acquainted with her a mere handful of months prior—curtsied politely, and, twinkling up at Lord Ballysadare, let him lead her into the dance.

\- Fin -

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a less vague title.


End file.
